Money makes the sex go 'round

I learned something about rich people yesterday when I drove my brother's Mercedes: Rich people are better than poor people. Or at least they expect to be treated better than us little guys. Not only do other drivers stare at them like they are something, the engineers who designed their expensive cars added features that boost an attitude of superiority. For example, Mercedes turn signals have a special setting (I like to call it the "asshole blinker") that, with only a slight pressure on the wand, flashes the signal three times and then shuts off automatically. It's like as soon as your income exceeds a certain amount you are no longer expected to remember to turn your blinker off; I guess it's too taxing to remember such minute details. I also hate how it only flashes three times, basically giving a three-second warning for whatever action is about to take place. Why not five or seven blinks? There's no harm in having it stay on too long, is there? The limited warning time sends the message, "I have money, I'm coming over here, get out of my way." Gross.

Now before I go any farther with this, I'm going to say that it's not that I don't like rich people, I've just never understood why most of them think they should be treated so much differently. I understand luxury and how good it is to have some of life's little treats, but is it so important to always have such things at your disposal? I don't need a free loaner car when I drop mine off to be serviced (it's a nice bonus, though), I don't need the interior and exterior to be extensively cleaned (again, nice), and I certainly don't need to be offered chocolates for my inconvenience (um, kind of weird). I realize the disclaimer at the beginning of this paragraph is very ironic (like saying, "I'm not a racist, but ..."), but it's true. There are a lot of people out there who work very hard for their money, my brother included, and they deserve what they can afford. I just don't see why they think it's okay to spend money on this stuff when there are innocent people out there starving. I'm not sure where I'm going with this... I think I somehow ended up on a soapbox. Whoops.

And on another note, the kid at the Mercedes dealership who offered me chocolates looked exactly like Michael Cera. I kept staring at him, desperately hoping he'd bust out a George Michael Bluth impersonation and offer me a frozen banana. Oh how dirty that sounds...